


Blind Man's Bluff ?

by Fiorenza_a



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorenza_a/pseuds/Fiorenza_a
Summary: ‘’Damn’’ - A muted, tight, exhaled expletive, but it ripped through Napoleon as a bolt of lightning splits an oak.No archive warnings apply, but if you prefer forewarning for content, please see theend notesbefore proceeding.





	Blind Man's Bluff ?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AconitumNapellus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconitumNapellus/gifts).



> Inspired by a prompt request made by Aconitum-Napellus (aconitumn) to the LiveJournal muncle community, although it only plays with elements of the prompt - and therefore doesn't quite fit the bill as requested.

 

‘’Damn.’’

A muted, tight, exhaled expletive, but it ripped through Napoleon as a bolt of lightning splits an oak.

‘’Okay in there, buddy?’’ Napoleon called into the next room, the forced bonhomie making even him wince.

‘’It is nothing’’ came the terse assurance.

‘Of course’ Napoleon’s lips moved to shape the words, though no sound escaped them. Of course Illya was all right. Illya was never anything else. Independent, defiant, angrily at war with fate, the universe, himself, Napoleon, the list was endless. As had been the anger.

Napoleon crossed the room to a walnut cabinet set against the wall. A silver tray sat on its surface, the swirling, syrupy-golden tones of the wood warming the icy hue of the metal and echoing the amber-hued contents of the bottles gathered upon it.

Napoleon took hold of one of the bottles and wryly examined the label, before pouring himself a brandy.

‘’Vive l'Empereur’’ he muttered bitterly.

‘’I should have thought you’d had enough of that’’ a voice admonished him from the doorway.

‘’Au contraire, mon ami’’ replied Napoleon with brittle whimsy ‘’It would appear that this is the one thing of which I’ve had too little.’’

Illya moved across the room with deceptive ease, coming to rest before his partner. Reaching out, he found Napoleon’s arm, allowing his hand to follow the line of it, until it was wrapped warmly around Napoleon’s - gripped firmly about the cut crystal.

‘’Don’t’’ pleaded Napoleon softly, as Illya turned him into his embrace.

Illya slid the brandy glass from his partner’s grasp and placed it on the walnut cabinet. Napoleon shut his eyes to save himself from having to explain the wetness they threatened to spill onto his cheeks.

‘’Poor Napoleon, this isn’t how it was supposed to be, is it?’’ murmured Illya as he nuzzled into Napoleon’s neck ‘’You can handle anything but being useless. Master any assignment, but that.’’

‘’It should have been me’’ Napoleon breathed into Illya’s shoulder, almost too quietly to be heard.

‘’Because you think I would be better at being useless?’’ suggested Illya with gentle humour.

‘’Because I can’t stand to see you like this’’ admitted Napoleon ‘’Not…’’

‘’Blind?’’ supplied Illya with tender brutality, sensing Napoleon flinch in his arms.

‘’Don’t’’ repeated Napoleon.

‘’What happened to ‘We’ll get through this’?’’ enquired Illya, an intimate murmur of accusation into Napoleon’s ear ‘’’Together’, if I recall.’’

‘’That was before’’ replied Napoleon unsteadily ‘’Before -‘’

‘’Before the operation failed to correct the problem?’’ interjected Illya ‘’Or before they had to remove my eyes?’’

‘’Don’t’’ protested Napoleon, unable to keep the agony from his voice.

‘’You never were a man to settle for an imitation of the real thing’’ reflected Illya cruelly ‘’Never paste when there were diamonds, never rayon when there was silk, never coney when there was mink, never glass when there –‘’

‘’Stop it’’ ordered Napoleon, a despairing plea into Illya’s shoulder ‘’Stop it. Please.’’    

‘’- were sapphires’’ finished Illya tonelessly, head erect, staring sightlessly into some imagined distance ‘’All I can offer is glass, and it’s not enough, is it, Napoleon?’’

‘’Stop it’’ whispered Napoleon desperately.

‘’This is the part where you tell me I’m wrong, Napoleon’’ said Illya dryly, absently tracing a finger along the hairline at the nape of Napoleon’s neck ‘’The part where you tell me you can still see the sapphires, or that you never saw them in the first place. The part where you tell me you can still love me, but you can’t, can you, Napoleon?’’

‘’It should have been me’’ repeated Napoleon desolately into Illya’s shoulder.

‘’Because you can forgive your own imperfections, but not those of others’’ charged Illya pitilessly ‘’Because if it was I having to guide you to our bed, if it was you, and not I, learning what it truly means to make love in the dark, it would not diminish you. But having imperfection in your arms, knowing I will spend the rest of my life colliding with misplaced furniture, my undisguised clumsiness, this you cannot tolerate. I diminish you because I call into question your taste.’’

Illya felt Napoleon spasm as if electrocuted, reflexively gripping him.  

‘’It is perhaps fortunate’’ reflected Illya coldly ‘’That I am not a woman. If I were a woman, if we had married, I would have no choice but to reside in this exquisite hell. As it is, I can walk away. I do not have to wait at home, the perfect wife, while you philander your way about town. Perfect because I would be too dependent upon you to leave, perfect because ‘my wife is blind’ will always trump ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’, perfect because no woman would expect you to leave me and marry her. A blind woman must throw herself upon the charity of relatives, a blind man may still expect to work.’’

‘’You’re leaving me?’’ asked Napoleon in a small, fragile voice, still gripping Illya as if he were the only anchor in a ferocious sea.

‘’I live here, I intend to live here no longer’’ acknowledged Illya ‘’To that extent, I am leaving you. But the reality of the situation is simply that I must deal with the reality of the situation. I can no longer drive, therefore there is little point in keeping a car. I can no longer read, therefore there is little point in keeping my books.’’

‘’You can no longer live with me’’ comprehended Napoleon bleakly ‘’So there is little point in staying.’’

‘’We understand each other exactly’’ confirmed Illya, reaching for Napoleon’s brandy glass and placing it back into Napoleon’s hands, moulding Napoleon’s fingers round it with his own.

‘’Why?’’ Napoleon mumbled into the comforting fumes rising from the glass.

‘’Why do I choose freedom over hell?’’ queried Illya, relinquishing Napoleon’s hands and stepping away.

‘’Why won’t you give me time?’’ asked Napoleon.

‘’Time?’’ demanded Illya archly ‘’How much more do you expect? Shall I count the days, the months, the weeks? I can’t see to mark them out on a calendar, but you can. You can mark them out, strike them off, one by one, tell me how long I’ve been standing in the dark. Give me the quantum of eternity.’’

‘’But there was always hope’’ argued Napoleon ‘’Always one more treatment, always one more operation, it was never permanent.’’

’’Am I to take it that _you_ feel cheated?’’ enquired Illya, in dumfounded disbelief ‘’Your ego would beggar Croesus.’’    

‘’I felt like Croesus’’ countered Napoleon ‘’The first time you smiled at me. Not that it was much of a smile. I seem to recall the floor getting more of it than I did, but then you flashed those baby –‘’

Napoleon bit on his lip so hard it drew blood.

‘’Quite’’ acknowledged Illya acidly ‘’But they’re gone, and all that’s left is me.’’

‘’Okay, Illya. I admit it’’ said Napoleon ‘’I’m lousy at this. Is that what you want to hear?’’

‘’It’s a start’’ replied Illya evenly.

‘’What the hell is that supposed to mean?’’ demanded Napoleon, forgetting himself at last.

‘’Just get on with it’’ needled Illya ‘’Say your piece.’’

‘’All right’’ brazened Napoleon ‘’If you’re leaving anyway, if you’re asking for it, why not? If we’re counting days, let’s count day number one, shall we? The day I caught up with you? Remember that?’’

‘’You know I don’t’’ answered Illya steadily.

‘’No, but I do’’ railed Napoleon ‘’I remember hauling you out of that ‘plane, your leather jacket on fire, beating out the flames with my bare hands. It took most of your hair too. And frankly, at that point, I didn’t care. I didn’t give a damn if you were going to spend the rest of your life looking like a broiled chicken, just so long as there _was_ a rest of your life.’’

‘’You saved my life, Napoleon’’ conceded Illya ‘’I freely admit it. I even admit to being grateful for it, if that’s what you need to hear. That has never been the problem between us.’’

‘’Grateful?’’ repeated Napoleon bitterly ‘’You asked me to kill you.’’

‘’I was out of my head’’ protested Illya.

‘’I know that’’ snapped Napoleon angrily ‘’But I still had to hear it. Over and over. Sometimes you were so lucid, I’d swear you meant it. I still hear it, in here’’ continued Napoleon, jabbing a finger savagely at his own temple ‘’I’ll never forget it.’’

‘’I’m sorry’’ offered Illya simply.

‘’So am I’’ sighed Napoleon, running a hand through his hair ‘’I’m sorry for the whole lousy mess.’’

‘’And the rest?’’ prompted Illya ‘’The other days?’’

‘’You mean the days you spent fighting hope?’’ clarified Napoleon abrasively ‘’Or the days you spent fighting despair?’’

‘’Take your pick’’ shrugged Illya indifferently.

‘’Okay, let’s start with despair’’ said Napoleon ‘’Because, I just about got through that. The days when you’d try smashing everything in the place, and I was terrified you’d hurt yourself. That you’d injure yourself somehow, so they wouldn’t be able to fix your eyes. Or the days when you’d just sit, face to the wall, and shut everyone out, so no one, not even me, could reach you.’’

‘’And then?’’ said Illya.

‘’Oh, then there were the good days’’ continued Napoleon sardonically ‘’The days when you were just counting the hours until the bandages came off, or until the appointment with some new specialist came round. Watching you telling yourself you weren’t hoping, then watching you mourn as that same hope died.’’

‘’And then?’’ breathed Illya intensely.

‘’And then there was the last day’’ answered Napoleon bleakly ‘’The day they said it was over. One eye already gone, and the other rotting in your skull. But that’s not when it hit me, not then, we’d been through too much. It was simply another consultation. It hit me when I came back to collect you and you were just standing there in that damn black suit.‘’

‘’The street clothes made it real’’ apprehended Illya in seamless understanding ‘’In pyjamas I was a patient, in a suit, I was just another blind man.’’

Napoleon nodded forlornly.

‘’I know you well enough to know you’re nodding right now, Napoleon’’ observed Illya with a wry smile ‘’But, you see, I _can’t_ see.’’

‘’For what it’s worth’’ said Napoleon ‘’I truly tried. With all my heart, I truly tried.’’

‘’Too hard’’ replied Illya ‘’This is the first honest conversation we’ve had since you told me I was an idiot to go after Mundii on my own.’’

‘’You were’’ said Napoleon ‘’Look what happened.’’

‘’Yes’’ agreed Illya, with unexpected glee ‘’I very nearly lost my partner.’’

‘’ _You very nearly_ …?’’ echoed Napoleon in bewilderment, hope quietly blossoming despite himself ‘’You mean, you’re not leaving? This is just an act? Some bizarre charade so I’d talk?’’

‘’In my defence’’ allowed Illya callously ‘’I was up against some stiff competition, THRUSH sets a pretty high bar.’’

‘’I’m out of my depth’’ admitted Napoleon, finding an armchair and sinking into it with his brandy.

Illya grinned.

‘’Now what?’’ asked Napoleon.

‘’You realise this is the first time you’ve sat down in my presence without making sure I had a seat first’’ said Illya ‘’No, don’t spoil it by getting up’’ he added hastily as Napoleon started guiltily to his feet.

‘’You could hear that?’’ asked Napoleon.

‘’My name is Illya Kuryakin’’ rebuked Illya ‘’Perhaps you’ve heard of me, I work for U.N.C.L.E.’’

‘’You sensed the movement’’ comprehended Napoleon, sinking back into his armchair in defeat ‘’And I’ve been smothering you.’’

‘’When you weren’t driving yourself to the brink of a nervous breakdown’’ agreed Illya ‘’Drastic measures were needed.’’

Napoleon mutely meditated upon his brandy as Illya navigated his way to the armchair opposite his own.

‘’I’m going to slip up like that’’ offered Napoleon finally, running the tip of his tongue over the self-inflicted injury to his lip ‘’Say things like ‘baby blues’.’’

‘’Only my eyes are made of glass’’ responded Illya gently.

‘’But what if I really hurt you?’’ pressed Napoleon ‘’Say something really stupid. I don’t know anything about this. Okay, guys get hurt, they get shipped out. Maybe you visit them in hospital, maybe at home, but then you move on. You don’t have to… You don’t live with them. You don’t have to deal…I’m not a wife’’ finished Napoleon helplessly ‘’I don’t know how to do this.’’

‘’’Together’ wasn’t a bad idea, Napoleon’’ said Illya ‘’Only you didn’t really mean ‘together’, not then, not at the hospital. You meant you would stand by me, while I got through this on my own. The way we always have, but it can’t be like that now. Now, we really do have to do this together.‘’

‘’Which means?’’ tested Napoleon.

‘’Which means, trusting each other’’ replied Illya ‘’Which means, I might take a swing at you, if you say something stupid. Or I might spend the night at some hotel, while you ring round our friends to see if I’ve been murdered. But what it really means, is that when I calm down, I’ll know you didn’t mean it, and I’ll want to come home to our own bed, and hear you tell me that. And it means, you get to do the same, not dance on egg shells waiting for me to fall to pieces. Because if after all this, I’ve lost you too, then what was the point of you pulling me from that wreckage?’’

‘’I didn’t end up with a scratch’’ confessed Napoleon, flexing his fingers ‘’Not that I’d recommend it as a pastime, but my hands healed as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t been there. Can you live with that?’’

‘’I can’t _see_ it, Napoleon’’ replied Illya ‘’And it doesn’t matter, scars or no scars, for me you will always look the way you did at the airfield. Wind in your hair, tearing down the runway in that commandeered jeep, yelling at me not to be an idiot.’’  

‘’You should have listened’’ Napoleon softly reproached.

‘’Is that how you want to spend the rest of our lives?’’ asked Illya gently.

‘’No’’ said Napoleon, rising to his feet to pour himself another brandy and get one for Illya ‘’It’s just, if I’m never going to say it again, I want to know that you heard it.’’

‘’I heard it’’ replied Illya dutifully.

‘’Good’’ said Napoleon, turning away from the drinks and moving to settle himself on the arm of Illya’s chair. He found Illya’s hand, and wrapped Illya’s fingers around the glass he’d poured for him, before continuing ‘’Now what was that about the rest of our lives?’’  

‘’A modest scheme I’ve been hatching’’ replied Illya ‘’I’m out of the field now, you’re close to being retired, so I put a little proposal to Mr Waverly.’’

‘’Will nothing teach you to stay out of trouble?’’ enquired Napoleon, sipping his brandy without expectation.

‘’Nothing’’ confirmed Illya smugly ‘’He agreed.’’

‘’And for the benefit of those of us who are not telepathic?’’ enquired Napoleon.

‘’He agreed we could go to Paris’’ Illya obliged.

‘’What’s in Paris?’’ asked Napoleon ‘’Apart from the obvious.’’

‘’We are’’ announced Illya triumphantly ‘’U.N.C.L.E. is starting a new school, for subterfuge and disguise. Between us, we should be able to up the game considerably.’’

‘’But why Paris?’’ asked Napoleon, confounded.

Illya’s hand snaked out and fumbled for Napoleon’s lapel, dragging him down to within reach of Illya’s lips ‘’Because your accent needs all the help it can get’’ admonished Illya, his lips beginning to tease Napoleon’s with ruthless determination ‘’And because, when I was young… and had no use for it… I let Paris steal my heart… Of late…however… I find that… I have a use for it…after all...So Paris must…return my heart… so that I…may give it…to you.’’

‘’You realise…’’ responded Napoleon, tantalising Illya with promises in kind ‘’…What mush, that is?’’

‘’You have a lifetime… to explain it…to me…’’ breathed Illya intently ‘’Once I… finish…with your…’’

The luxurious pile of the carpet cushioned the fall of two brandy glasses.

‘’…… _lips……_ ’’  

 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves a depiction of blindness  
> [Croesus](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croesus)


End file.
